Nym
by that dark-haired girl
Summary: On Hiatus. In the tumultuous years that follow the defeat of Lord Voldemort, Nymphadora Tonks is sent to live with family friends at The Burrow. It is there that she meets and befriends Charlie Weasley,creating a bond that will last throughout her life...
1. Burrow

**Burrow**

Sleep.

All I seem to do these days is sleep.

The mother _(Mary? Molly? I can't remember what Arthur called her…)_ set me up in her daughter's room…it's pink. Absolutely everything in this room is pink, from the rug on the floor to the curtains to the warm blanket I'm wrapped in. I hate pink, but beggars can't be choosers. There's flowers, little blue and purple pansies, painted along the edge of the wall where it joins the ceiling. I don't like looking at the flowers…they make me think of my bedroom back home, and the stars Mum and I painted on the ceiling last year.

_Oh, gods…Mum…_

Dad isn't here anymore. He was the first two nights, but when I woke up he was gone and Arthur had to force a calming draught down my throat to get me to stop screaming.

His wife _(Megan? Marian? No…it was definitely something with a 'y' at the end…) _brings me food at different intervals in the day, one or three of her brood at the door whispering and watching me as she does so.

I don't like that; them ogling me like I'm some monkey in a zoo. I like their mother, though. She doesn't ask a lot of questions and shoos her kids from the doorway when they try to come in.

I don't talk to her when she does ask me things.

All I do is sleep.

If I'm lucky, I won't wake up.

--

The little girl, Ginny, is two years old, and walks in the way little Harry did the last time I saw him: all shaky and wobbly and constantly clutching at the furniture for balance. I think it's because she isn't all that used to walking, especially since she's constantly being carried around by her brothers.

She is always followed by her entourage of boys nearly everywhere she goes, whether it's down the stairs or into the garden or chasing after their grey post owl, Errol, as their mother sends packages and letters to the oldest boy off at Hogwarts. One day, when she's older, I'm sure she'll hate having her brothers follow her and catalogue her every move, but for now she seems to love all this attention.

She comes into my room sometimes. I know it's not _my_ room, and that it's hers, but I've been in here at least a month and the sight of the unchanging pink walls has become somewhat soothing. Ginny will toddle in, dressed in pink sundresses that clash horribly with her red and braided Weasley hair, and start gathering toys to play with outside this stuffy pink room. The five boys wait in the door frame throughout all of this, crowding around the entrance but none of them brave enough to enter.

As I'm lying in my own halfway point between sleep and awake, I feel a sharp tug on my hand, and I slowly raise my head to gaze into this tiny little girl's big brown eyes. Ginny grins toothily at me as she climbs into the bed with me, a green stuffed dragon held tightly by a wing in her right hand. I glance at the door; there are no boys standing around it this afternoon.

"This is Cosmo," she says as she gives the stuffed dragon in her arms a tight squeeze. "Mummy says that he keeps _allll_ the bad dreams away, like a dragon should. I don't really have bad dreams anymore, so Percy said I should give him to you!"

"Ginny, what are you doing in here?" The doorway is no longer empty; one of the boys is standing there with a tray of sandwiches for my lunch and a look of mixed amusement and concern on his face.

He's not the tallest of them, but he has a kind smile and soft eyes and Ginny giggles as he picks her up with one hand and sets the tray of food Molly most likely prepared at the foot of the bed with the other.

"Sorry," he says apologetically. "Ginger-Snap here _knows_ she isn't supposed to bother you, but not even our mum can stop this one from getting into the places she shouldn't be." He tugs on one of Ginny's braids and she laughs innocently.

I try and smile back, but all I can manage is some sort of weak grimace.

He grins widely at me and leaves with Ginny whispering loudly in his ear about dragons and bad dreams.

He has eyes exactly like his sister.

--

Breakfast: the Final Frontier.

Or was that Space?

Whatever it is, I have not left little Ginny's bedroom in over a month, and it feels deliciously different to be out of the second-hand pyjamas that had belonged to one of Molly's taller boys and in a pair of my own clothes, even if it is just the jeans and blue t-shirt I had been wearing when I first came to the Burrow.

Molly takes me by the hand, steering me from my not-quite-hidden-but-not-quite-seen place in the archway that separates the sitting room from the kitchen and points to an empty chair next to the twins, who are currently flicking bits of egg at the spectacled boy across from them. Arthur sits at the head of the table, the _Sunday Prophet_ hiding all but his increasingly balding patch of red hair as he reads, and it is lowered only to kiss Molly gently on her cheek as she dishes him sizzling bacon from a pan off the stove. She giggles like a schoolgirl _(just like Mum used to with Dad…) _and humming along with the wireless, she moves around to the other people at the table, filling our plates high with bacon and sausages and eggs and toast.

There are ten wooden chairs sitting around the scrubbed oak table, all but one filled with the body of a freckle-faced redhead that is laughing and eating and each one of them so full of life it makes my heart hurt a little.

"Nymphadora," Arthur pats my arm gently. "Is something wrong?"

I begin to shake my head in a vehement _NO_, but stop myself.

"Who…who are all of them?" My voice is raspy and hoarse from lack of use, but Arthur seems to understand my question.

"My children?"

"What are their names?" I sound like a rusty gate, but it's better than nothing. "How old are they?"

He leans back in his chair and exchanges a look with Molly from her place at the other end of the table, obviously pleased with the fact that I've either spoken or taken an interest in his family, but which it is I can't tell.

"Well, Ginny is our little girl, the one whose room you've been sleeping in." Ginny looks up and grins at the sound of her name, knocking her bowl of mush over as she does so, and Molly wipes a bit of the food that has flown everywhere off of her daughter's cheek.

"Ron, the one sitting next to Percy over there, he's the youngest of our boys. Then there are the twins, Fred and George, which are the two troublemakers sitting next to you, and Percy is on the other side of the table. Ron is three, Fred and George are five, Ginny is almost two, and Percy is eight." Arthur beams at his and Molly's brood, completely oblivious to the fact that Percy is nearly covered in egg. "Charlie is ten, your age, and he's the one on the other side of Percy." Charlie smiles at me, and I can feel the heat rising on my cheeks.

"There's…there's an empty chair next to me…." I point to the empty chair beside me and Arthur sighs.

"That chair is Bill's. He's eleven and in his first year at Hogwarts right now, but you'll see him when he comes back for the summer holidays," he says gently. "And I hope you'll be staying with us throughout the summer, Nymphadora."

I don't know how to respond, except to smile and make a breakfast sandwich out of the bacon and toast on my plate. Arthur nods to Molly, who is busy cleaning the egg off of Percy with an _Evanesco_ and a flick of her wand. The twins are laughing to themselves and begin throwing more of their food at Ginny and Ron. Ron and Ginny go ballistic and start throwing food back, causing Arthur to abandon his breakfast and physically separate the twins from their food, which results in Arthur's head covered in both egg and the bowl of mush Ginny has hurled at the twins in retaliation. And Charlie just sits there and asks me to pass the pumpkin juice, as though this happens every day.

This is absolute chaos.

I love it.

--

Time passes slowly at the Burrow.

Now that I've left the confines of Ginny's bedroom, Molly has put me to work. No hard labour, of course…all that is done by magic. But I help Charlie and Percy de-gnome the garden and Molly hang and fold the clothes on the wash lines every other afternoon. Molly had originally put me in charge of dishes, but after my sixteenth or seventeenth broken dinner plate she set a wicker basket in front of me and told me to fold everything inside it. Because after all, "_Sheets and towels don't shatter if you handle them too roughly."_

They've welcomed me into their home and are slowly turning me into one of them…not that it's a bad thing. It's the first time I've ever felt welcome in any home, really, besides with Nana and Granddad out in Gloucester. Dad's sister and her husband, my Auntie Jo and Uncle Neil, are nice people, but they're Muggles. Whenever Dad took me to see them, they'd always pressure me and ask me to tell them things about the Magical World. Aunt Jo was always very persistent, telling me that if I told her what she wanted she could put it in her book and make me a co-author. Dad walked in on that little conversation and took me straight home before sending his baby sister a particularly nasty Howler. Mum's family wouldn't have taken me in, either…Hell, I was lucky Grandmother Druella didn't drown me in the bathtub when I was born; the daughter of a filthy Mudblood and out of wedlock to boot. The same went for her sisters, Auntie Bella and Aunt Cissa…they'd never take me in. As high as they hold the notions of Family Solidarity and the Importance of Blood, they'd never acknowledge that their Muggle-born niece had a rightful place on their precious family tree.

Sirius would have taken me in. He and Jeanie and little Kate would've given me a place to stay--no, more than that. They would have made sure that I was considered a part of their little family; that what I had with them wasn't just a room in a house, but a home. But Sirius went bad, Mum had said….that was why they put him in Azkaban, because he went crazy and hurt the Potters….he hurt funny James and tender Lily…..and poor little Harry….

The Weasleys aren't like that. I don't think that any of them could hurt a fly, even if they wanted to.

If Dad never comes back for me, which I _reallyreallyreallyREALLY_ hope isn't true, I don't think I'd mind staying with Molly and Arthur for a long, long time.


	2. First Year

**First Year**

Hufflepuff.

The Hat put me in Hufflepuff. I begged, I pleaded, I promised to make it the leader of the Hogwarts School Choir, but no.

Hufflepuff, I ask you.

I stood in line, stuck between Rhiannon Vortigern and Christian Tatting as Professor McGonagall read off names on that long list of hers and brought up students to be Sorted, as nervous as I've ever felt in my life.

Tatting went first, the Hat barely touching his head before screaming _**"**__**RAVENCLAW!**__**"**_to the entirety of the Great Hall.

All I wanted was a friend to go to the same House with me. All I wanted was someone familiar, someone I got along with, to go through it all with me.

All I wanted was Charlie.

I was called before Rhiannon, the few giggles at the sound of my name reverberating along the high ceilings as I walked towards the three-legged stool that sat before McGonagall. The Hat slid over my eyes before I was ready, and all at once a little voice filled my head.

_At last we meet, Miss Tonks…You've been looking forward to this ever since your letter arrived, haven't you?_

_Yes, I have. Now, I know you do the whole "Sorting" thing, but I really, really want to go to Gryffindor._

_Gryffindor, eh? Why's that?_

_You see that boy at the very end of the line, the one with the red hair? That's Charlie Weasley. I want to go with him, and his entire family's been put into Gryffindor. So all you have to do is yell out "Gryffindor!" and everything will be fine._

_I don't think that's the right choice for you, you know…_

_What are you talking about?_

_You've got a keen intellect, that's good, and plenty of ambition and courage, there's no doubt about that…_

_No. I said I want to go to Gryffindor. Please? I'm sorry if my tone was a little rude before, but please? Can you just put me in Charlie's House?_

_And you are very intelligent, young lady, not afraid of hard work at all…_

_Oh, come on. You're not even listening to me now, are you? Please?! I'll do anything. You like to sing, right? Of course you do, you must since you come up with a new song every year…what if I talk to Professor Dumbledore? I heard that he's going to bring back the school choir now that they have another Muggle Music Professor…what if I talked to him, and had him make __you__ the leader! You have a wonderful voice, and I'm sure that the students could learn a lot from your ages and ages of wisdom…all you'd have to do is put me in Gryffindor, and the second the Sorting Ceremony is done, I will march right up to Dumbledore and __demand__ that you be made leader of the school choir!_

_Nice try. You know how many students try to pull that one every year? Now let me finish…You might do well in Gryffindor, but it seems to me that the best place for you is __**HUFFLEPUFF!**_

Bollocks.

Stupid Hat.

The Hufflepuff table applauds for me as McGonagall removes the Sorting Hat from my head, and as I walk towards the students with the black and yellow ties I find myself sitting alone at the end of the table with the other first-years, all of us looking nervously at one another and at the people around us. Rhiannon Vortigern is next, and the Hat is completely covering her head. It sits silent for a moment, and she is visibly shaking, but after a few seconds the Hat shouts out _**HUFFLEPUFF!**_, and she rushes over to the table amidst the applause and takes the empty seat next to me.

"Congratulations," I say. Rhiannon looks up, big green eyes wide with fright, and smiles nervously back at me.

"You too," She holds out her hand and I shake it. "I'm Rhiannon Vortigern."

"Nymphadora Tonks."

"Can I call you Nym?"

"Only if I can call you Anna."

"Our mothers must've been crazy when they named us," she laughs, and I laugh with her. Suddenly, the Hufflepuff table is not that lonely. Around Rhiannon and myself, other first-years are starting to break the ice with one another, laughing and talking and not paying attention as Charlie Weasley is called to be Sorted.

The Sorting Hat covers all of Charlie's vividly red hair, and as the Hat speaks to him in words we can't hear, his freckled face is slowly turning a shade of red that rivals any rainbow.

_**GRYFFINDOR!**_, the Hat calls out.

Charlie looks up in surprise as the Gryffindor table welcomes him, Bill hitting him on the back as he walks over and cheering loud enough to overpower the rest of the table. Smiling happily, Charlie joins the table, but on the side near Hufflepuff. He leans back in his chair as the Hat is placed on the head of Lisa Young, and motions for me to come closer. I tilt my head towards his, and he whispers words I did not expect:

"I was almost made a Hufflepuff."

--

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

What is that blasted noise? I roll over in the mass of yellow sheets I've managed to tangle myself in sometime during the night, trying to figure out what the tapping sound is coming from.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

I squint my eyes in the morning sunlight, the golden rays that shine through the windows amplified in the millions by the shades of yellow that adorn the girl's dormitory.

_Tap. Tap. Tappity-Tap-Tap._

Merlin, Arthur, and Guinevere, where the Hell is that noise coming from?

"Anna, I think I've lost my mind."

"Just don't set fire to the curtains," Rhiannon groans from behind the gold-coloured curtain of her bed. "I don't think Professor Sprout could handle that happening five times two weeks into the year."

I look around the room, Rhiannon and the other three girls asleep in their tall four-poster beds, all of them oblivious to the noise. I hold my hand to my forehead, as if checking for a fever, when I notice the owl tapping on the window beside the fireplace.

"This couldn't wait until breakfast?" I ask aloud as I untie the letter attached to the leg of the immense barn owl. The owl nips my finger in an almost affectionate manner before flying off, and I am left with a roll of parchment probably addressed to Rhiannon or pretty Amelia Rhyme or….wait.

The name on the outside of the scroll is mine, in a cramped and hurried handwriting that undoubtedly belongs to my father.

I climb back into bed and pull the curtains around me before tearing open the wax seal, eager to find out where he is, how he's been…if he knows if Mum's sister has been caught yet….

_Nym, Peanut, Dora, Sunshine--_

_I'm fine. Really._

_I can't tell you exactly where, but I've been staying with Professor Dumbledore and his brother, Aberforth… he's by far the strangest man I've ever met, that Aberforth. Always talking about his pet goat, Charisse, and how "Charisse can do this" and "Charisse can do that", and he tells this one story over and over again about how he and Charisse went to Dover on a holiday and she nearly pushed him over a cliff._

_I'm sorry I left this summer, Peanut. I had to leave you with Arthur and Molly__ because I didn't know how safe it would be where I was going. I'd already lost your mother and I didn't want to lose you, too…_

_I know that I'm just making excuses. I know that what's happened is not an excusable reason for leaving you with "strangers" (and I use the terms "Strangers" loosely because Arthur and Molly were practically family to me and your mother when we were first married)__. But believe me when I say how hard it was for me to leave you there, and how as much as I wanted to take you with me I had to think of your best interests._

_I'm sorry I missed your first trip to Diagon Alley. I'm sorry we never went to see the new Star Wars movie this summer like I promised we would.__ I'm sorry I missed your birthday, Sunshine._

_I know I can't make up for it, but the owl that delivered this letter is your birthday present…his name is Pluto, and he's very reliable. Any letter that you want to send to me, just tell him "Take this to Ted" and he will get it to me no matter what. You should be careful, though…he bites._

_Even if I can't be with you, Peanut, I love you more than anything else in the world._

_--Dad._

"Nym, are you alright?"

Rhiannon has pulled back the curtain of my bed, and her quizzical look of alarm and worry makes me cry even harder. I hide the letter and nod my head "yes", but she closes the curtains around us and lets me cry and as I rest my head against her shoulder, I realize that for the first time I have a friend _(a living, breathing friend who happens to be a girl)_ who isn't Charlie, and the thought doesn't scare me.

Not one bit.


	3. Second Year

Second Year

**Second Year**

_Dear Dad,_

_I'm fine. __**Really**__._

_I just wanted to send you a letter and let you know that my second year at Hogwarts is starting off much better than my first did._

_Rhiannon and I are still pretty close…I like her much more than the other girls in my House. Who knew that Hufflepuffs--kind, __gentle__ Hufflepuffs--could be so unbelievably catty? I get along better with Rhiannon and a few of the boys in my year than I do with any of the other people in my House._

_And Charlie, of course. I'm still friends with Charlie and Bill, and Charlie's very excited because he made the Gryffindor Quidditch team (!!), which as you know is amazing for a second-year student to be played that soon. He's their starting Seeker, and from what Rhiannon (a completely rabid fan of the Falmouth Falcons) tells me, if he continues the way he's going he could play for a professional Quidditch team someday. Rhiannon says she's going out for Beater next year, and I think she could get it, too. She's not a big girl or anything (she's actually far from it), but she's very, very powerful. I'd hate to be on the wrong side of whatever bat they'd give her…_

_In other news, nobody here knows about my powers yet. I don't think that anyone will find out anytime soon, though. And believe you me; I'm behaving just like Mum always said to: No outrageously colored hair, no changing of gender to confuse teachers, no pig snouts at the breakfast table…in other words, nothing fun. I've kept to the boring standard Mum told me to when we first found out about my Metamorphmagus…ness: short brown hair, dark eyes like yours, fair skin like hers. But since my stay with the Weasley's I've had more than a sprinkle of freckles across my face…___

_I hope this letter finds you in good health, Dad. You know you shouldn't be eating all that junk food, even if Professor Dumbledore's brother does get it for free. I still think that man's a little touched in the head, and the way he talks about that goat of his still makes me wonder if he's playing with a full deck of cards._

_I miss you, Dad. Please come by Nana and Granddad's this Christmas…I know they'd love to see you, too. Maybe we could even see a movie together?_

_ LoveLoveLove (forever and a day after that),_

_ Nym_

The scroll of paper looks small in my hand as I tie it to Pluto's outstretched leg, and the barn owl hoots softly as I whisper _"Take this to Ted"_.

He takes flight from his perch in the Owlry, his great wings spread wide as he soars through the open aperture of the tower and out into the early morning sunlight. I sigh and lean on the stone windowsill, my head propped in my hand as I watch the sun rise over the dark mass of trees that is the Forbidden Forest, the deep orange and gold of the sky lightening to a pale blue with each passing moment.

As much as I love my teachers, my classes, and my newfound friends, I miss my Dad.

"Come on, Nym! We're late enough for Charms as it is!"

Rhiannon is running down the corridor at top speed, both of us late for our fifth period Charms class from the rare daytime Astronomy class Professor Sinistra held on the roof of her tower classroom as we searched the skies for a special comet.

It was harder to locate celestial objects with the sun canceling everything out, and it didn't help that I knocked over three telescopes in the process of attempting to complete the assignment.

Rhiannon is ahead of me, and I can see her blonde head bouncing along the corridor in the sea of black robes, but she's too quick for me and I end up struggling to keep up with her fast pace.

A loose shoelace sends me lumbering into a wall, where I bounce and skid across other people in the crowded third floor hallway until I land on the cold ground. A great tearing sound makes my insides wince, and as I look up from the floor I can see that my bag has split, sending books and blank parchment flying across the stone floor of the hallway. I curse softly as I pick up a shard of glass from my shattered ink bottle and prick my finger _(like a fairytale princess on a spindle…)_, drawing a tiny drop of blood.

"Would you see that? The klutz finally found her place in life!"

"Aw, lookit the little Hufflepuff brat!"

"The Mudblood's on her hands and knees, just like she belongs!"

Slytherins yell out cat-calls and jeers, and although this isn't the first time I've fallen flat on my face in front of a crowd, it is the first time I've been called a 'Mudblood'. The word feels like a hard slap in the face, and although tears prick the space behind my eyes I refuse to acknowledge them.

"Fuck off," I say, not looking at any of the people around me as I rise to my full height. "You lot wouldn't know what common decency looked like if it bit you in your privileged arses."

A few of the people that have formed a circle around me and my torn bag snort derisively, and I feel a small surge of adrenaline begin to pump in my veins. Somewhere in the back of my mind it registers that the hallway has emptied of everyone but me and the ten Slytherins, but the adrenaline rush cancels out the fear.

"You think you're better than me, Tonks?" says a low and deadly voice. Second-year Evan Rosier steps out from his crowd of Slytherin cronies, his striking features and imperial nature prominent despite his short stature. He crosses his arms, as if he is waiting for me to fall to the floor and beg for forgiveness, and my mind races for a retort.

"Did I stutter, Rosier?" I fire back, the sudden bravery in my voice surprising me. "Or has all the inbreeding your precious pureblood family's done the past few generations passed on hearing loss along with the twelve toes and early baldness?"

His eyebrow arches and his right hand twitches slightly, like he's fighting the urge to run it through his dark hair and make sure it is still all there.

"Inbred, eh? What about that blood-traitor mother of yours?" he drawls coolly. "I know all about her….her family married their cousins. You know, Mudblood, I wouldn't be surprised if _she_ had twelve toes…or maybe idiocy was what was passed down through her family."

I can feel heat rising in my face and my hands involuntarily clench into fists _(Breathe one-two-three breathe one-two-three breathe one-two-three oh Bugger it's not helping…)_. The black and yellow tie around my neck suddenly seems too tight, and a smirk spreads across Evan's face. He senses weakness like hound on a rodent's trail, and the slimy git is using it to his own advantage.

"Stupidity would explain everything; you know…Why else would a prime example of pureblooded wealth and privilege throw her entire life away for a filthy Muggle?"

The Slytherins behind him snicker appreciatively. My nails dig deeper into my palms but I can't feel any pain.

"It probably only took one good love potion, you know…One good love potion to get her in bed with a filthy Muggleborn. Why else would she go for one?" says Evan, his ice-blue eyes locked in mine and searching for flaws.

"What self-respecting pureblood would give up her titles and life for some filthy, no-good animal that doesn't deserve to be in our world?"

A scream rips through my body as I lunge at Evan Rosier and slap him as hard as I can across his pale and pointed face. My hand leaves a deep red mark across his cheek, and as I pull my hand back to hit him again he grabs both my wrists and holds me at arms' length from him.

"What's happening to her?"

"Look at her nails!"

"Look at her _hair!_"

The Slytherins surrounding us are whispering to each other and staring at me as I struggle and squirm against Evan's surprisingly strong grip, and even Evan's eyes are no longer focused on my face. I follow his eyes to my hands, and to my horror and surprise my nails are turning a rainbow's gamut of colors all on their own. A blue strand of hair falls in my eyes and my heart jumps directly into my throat.

"So….you're a Metamorphmagus, eh, Tonks?" Evan says softly, letting go of one of my wrists to grab at a lock of my still-changing hair. I pull away and break his grip on my other wrist, tripping over the hem of my robes and landing flat on my arse. His gang laughs as I reach for something to defend myself with, and one of the taller boys behind Evan flicks the large piece of broken glass I've hurled at Evan's head away with his wand.

Evan stands there silently, watching me stagger and struggle with a horrible gleam in his eyes, and as I finally gain some sense and reach for the wand that is sticking out of the pocket on my bag, Evan summons it with his own and holds it tightly in his fist.

"Give it back, Rosier," I say through gritted teeth. Evan laughs in my face.

"Since you've forgotten you manners, Tonks, I think it is well within our right to teach you a little lesson in etiquette." The boys and girls behind him giggle and whisper to one another as Evan dangles my wand in front of me. I charge forward and try to grab my wand, but Evan steps aside and I collide with the wall of people around us. They push me back, and I bounce from person to person until I am back in front of Evan, who grins maliciously as one of the taller boys behind me hold my arms behind my back.

"Change for us, Nymph, won't you?" He laughs derisively as he grabs me roughly by the chin. Evan's fingers dig into my flesh and I feel naked and dirty and all I want to do is get away, but he has my wand in his other hand and with the stupid git behind me holding my wrists together I can't do anything but wish that someone--anyone--will help me.

"Leave her alone!" someone shouts. The circle of people surrounding me and Evan Rosier parts, and I can see a flash of red above them as someone makes their way to the forefront of the crowd.

Evan looks up, caught unawares by the sudden change of atmosphere in the crowd, and he lets my face go.

Charlie bursts through the crowd of Slytherins, wand at the ready and his eyes blazing with hatred. Rosier laughs coldly and rolls his eyes, as if Charlie is a small child and doesn't know what he's doing.

"Back off, Weasley," he drawls. "You aren't needed here."

"Let her go, Evan," Charlie says forcefully. If looks could kill, Evan would be dead by now.

"Not in your lifetime, Weasel. Why don't you just run back to class and forget all about this?"

Charlie's wand is drawn and aimed at Evan.

"Don't make me do it, Rosier," he says in a low and deadly voice. "Let her go and nobody will get hurt."

Evan smirks at the gesture, drawing laughs from his little crowd of followers.

"Why don't you just try and hurt me, Weasel?" Evan sneers, twirling my wand in his fingers. "Why don't you just try and--"

_"Flipendo!"_

Evan flies backwards, caught off guard, and falls into the stone flooring of the hallway. He lies still for a second, and the hall is deathly silent as he pulls himself up. Blood is trickling slowly from a gash in Evan's lip, and as he wipes the back of his hand across it the blood looks like neon across his pale skin.

Evan stares at his hand for what feels like an eternity

There is a sickening crack as Evan's fist collides with Charlie's face, and Charlie crumples to the floor like a rag doll. Evan grabs the collar of Charlie's robes and hits him again, and again, and again, and I scream and scream and Evan's friends are gone; all of them saving their own skin. The one holding my arms is gone, and I scramble towards the spot on the floor where Evan dropped my wand, my mind racing with all the spells I could use against him and save Charlie.

"That is enough, Mister Rosier."

Professor Dumbledore is standing above the three of us, his ordinarily pleasant tone of voice not giving a request, but a command.

Evan lets go of Charlie, who picks himself off the ground and stares at Evan with pure hate in his eyes. Evan stares at his shoes, his face expressionless as Professor Dumbledore instructs them to head straight to the Hospital Wing.

"As for you, Miss Tonks," he says sternly. "I'd like to speak to you in my office. Privately, if you please."

Dumbledore is sitting across from me, the space between us that his desk creates between us feeling more like light-years than the few meters it actually is. I feel awful, not just because Charlie has a black eye and bloody nose that could turn out to be broken, or because I was stupid and showed people my powers, doing exactly what Mum had told me not to. It's not even the fact that I had made myself vulnerable in the most hurtful place I could, and by this time tomorrow every single Slytherin will know what my weaknesses are.

The reason I feel awful is because this kind old man, the one person who took my father in during his time of need and continued to give him a place to call home, is staring at me with the utmost look of disappointment in his eyes.

"Miss Tonks, I'm not going to lie and say that what happened to you was not entirely your fault. Although young Evan and his friends said things that are inexcusable, you let them get under your skin and resorted to physical violence."

I sniff and stare at my hands folded in my lap, the nails no longer turning rainbow colors of their own accord.

"Because of your inability to restrain your emotions, you not only put yourself in a dangerous situation, but the friend who had so valiantly tried to come to your rescue. Your detention will be served with Madam Pince every Friday and Saturday evening in the Library for the next four months, Miss Tonks."

I don't answer and continue to stare at me hands.

"You were lucky that what happened didn't escalate into something worse, my dear," sighs Professor Dumbledore. "What would your father think of this? Of you belittling both yourself and the memory of your mother by letting this boy get inside your thoughts; by letting him know how much his words hurt you?"

I stay silent and blink back the tears that are already welling up in my eyes.

"As awful as this experience was, Nymphadora, did you learn anything from it? Anything at all?"

Professor Dumbledore peers at me over his half-moon glasses; as if he already knows the answer to his question, but is just waiting for me to get it on my own.

"I…I-I don't want to be a, ah, a victim again, Professor. Ever." I talk to the floor, to my hands, to anything that isn't the piercing blue gaze of the Headmaster. My voice sounds thick and like it doesn't even belong to me, and I can feel something wet trailing down my face.

Professor Dumbledore nods seriously and reaches into the pocket of his robes, pulling out a plain white handkerchief.

"Then I suggest you learn about how to be a protector, rather than a victim. You are free to go, Nymphadora, although I expect you to stop by the Hospital Wing so Madam Pomfrey can give you a quick once-over." Professor Dumbledore hands me the handkerchief. "Professor Sprout will tell you when your detention is to begin."

I take the white fabric and wipe my eyes with it, and when I hand it back Professor Dumbledore just smiles and says that I can keep it.

"Bye, Professor," I say as I get up to leave. The great red and gold bird that is on the perch by the door, which according to the brass nameplate at its base is called Fawkes, lets out a low, musical cry that sends a shiver down my spine.

"Before you go, Nymphadora," Dumbledore stands and walks over to the locked door of his office. "That 'twelve-toes' comment you made to Mister Rosier? I found that to be particularly inspiring…especially since his father and grandfather both had twelve toes themselves."

Dumbledore chuckles as he unlocks the door and holds it open for me, and as I descend down the spiral staircase I wonder if what has occurred in the past hour or so actually happened, or if I have just dozed off in History of Magic again.

I must have fallen asleep….That's the only logical explanation for how I managed to get into a fight with the Prince of Slytherin, only to be rescued by both Charlie and the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

It has to be.


End file.
